Retreat
by KeepUsSafe
Summary: [Selectively AU] Santana was considered a runaway. She would always run away from everything. Retreat was her only way out. For the first time in her life, she doesn't feel the need to run any more. Brittana. Set before the events of GLEE, but with different childhoods of Brittany and Santana. Crappy summary. Social problems, might be a bit dark ;) T just in case.
1. Chapter 1

**-Santana****-**

It's funny how adults think, how they _expect _you to do what they say. They teach us things, morals and ways, but they never seem to follow those themselves.

No, that doesn't only apply to adults. Everyone does that. People talk about how this is wrong and that is immoral, but moments later they find themselves doing the exact same thing. All those talk about "everyone should be treated equally", "everybody makes mistakes" crap they shove down our throats, all turn out to be untrue, because they are _very _different from how the world still looks down on you.

So here I am, being lead to my third orphanage home.

It's not surprising, really. I'd never be put in foster care first because I'd never be chosen because only the innocent, sad white kids get in first. As "civilized" as this rotten world claims to be, no one would ever choose the Latino kid first, let alone a kid with a scratched record.

Let's backtrack a bit.

My family died, all of them, when I was nine. I was young, but I understood - I wasn't stupid. I knew what everything was going on. The horrible accident that caused their deaths; I escaped it just because I was being punished by my parents, and they took the family out for dinner, leaving me at home. Everyone thought that I was somehow a trigger of their deaths. I never understood it, but it occurred to me that they thought that way. They always stared at me with cautious, suspicious eyes, always afraid and prepared if this child would, out of the blue, rage or have a fit or something. I was reported as the most troublesome child from everyone, my teachers, parents, babysitters. I was the black sheep, if you may, in my oh-so-perfect family.

It was easy being the bitter kid. I had the reasons to. I had a sister and a brother, both older. Perfect grades, presidents of numerous clubs, winning competitions in almost everything. It was easy to be overshadowed. My parents had expectations for me, signing me up for classes and filling my schedule with every possible learning opportunity they could find on pamphlets. They didn't do it for me, I was observant enough to learn that. They didn't care about what I wanted, what I needed. They just loved the trophies that shines on their shelves and the chance to brag to their friends.

It was the perfect family - that was what people called us. The father, young and healthy for his age, handsome and accomplished. Always wore a tie and was polite to everyone. You would see his name in the local newspaper every now and then, winning best lawn-keeping or breaking another volunteering hours record. The mother of the family was sophisticated, she gave children piano lessons and spent her time donating books to libraries. She was socially involved, always hanging out with her lady friends at the community center playing bridge or painting flower pots.

My sister was a cheerleader, and captain of the basketball and volleyball team. At eleven, she had already won three national titles for her clarinet playing and was the reigning state champion for sculpting. We were the closer in age, but she never paid much attention to spending time with me. She was always somewhere practicing... something. It was harder around her, she was so competitive and wouldn't ever stop talking about how excited she was for another upcoming contest or concert that she was featured in.

I loved my brother though, he cared for me. I remember him the clearest (it's only been three years, but time does play its part in fogging memories). He was tall, and handsome, and had pretty eyes. He smiled a lot too, his smile was the warmest. He had smile wrinkles along his eyes, and his pupils were so easy to talk to; they were always welcoming and kind. He was only fourteen when he died, too young. He was a quiet person, he liked to write and draw. I remembered his favorite thing to do was to sit outside in the sun, listening to soft music and reading. He taught me a lot, he would always let me sit with him and we would listen and read and write and draw. We would lie down on the soft grass and watch the clouds and trace the outline of the abstract shapes.

Being bad came like a second nature to me, I never had to think twice before I knew what I was about to do would set someone off. It wasn't hard, really, at all. I just had to do the opposite of whatever my siblings were doing. My parents, eventually got frustrated with me and tried to hide me, the disgrace, from anyone that may think that we were anything less than the perfect family. I was mad, and I felt unloved. It would've been easier to run away then, but I thought of how my brother would feel, how upset he'd be if he found out that I had run away. He even argued with my parents for my sake. I adored him and I loved him. I kept myself together for him.

After the accident, I was alone. It was all I ever wanted, right? I was always afraid of how my brother would feel. Now he's gone. I didn't care about anyone who was left. I could leave.

I didn't cry at the funeral, not one single tear. Relatives and family friends glanced at me with surprised expressions. I always kept my face straight and looked forward. I showed no emotion. I was so good at composing what I wanted to show. They were disgusted, or at least upset about how I showed no compassion, no love for my family. But then they would just shrug and sigh, this is the wrong child after all. The child that was the black sheep.

I didn't say a word for the whole two weeks when I was staying at the foster care home for children. They had people contacting all the relatives and people that were related to my family and asked if any of them would let me live with them. I never even hoped for any one of them to agree, though one of them surprised me.

It was my father's cousin Tia. I'd only seen her twice before. She was unwelcome from my father's family because she didn't exactly fit into their picture of the model family. I knew before that she was too, a disgrace to her family, and they practically disowned her. I found out that she was a drug addict and alcoholic - how she passed the test from the social services, I don't know - but somehow the authorized people saw fit that she would be taking care of me. I'd soon realize that she only agreed to take me in for the insurance money, the money that the court demanded from the drunk driver that killed my family, and the single parent family support money that the government gave to us every month. The money that I was getting was enough for me to at least get a few upgrades, but Aunt Tia had spent everything on the little bags of white powder and the booze. I don't even recall ever seeing her sober, the house that we lived in was once nice and handsome, but it was always filled with smoke from her cigarettes and the intoxicating acid-like smell of strong alcohol.

I only stayed there for a little over a month before I left for good. I'd written a letter to the social services telling them about Aunt Tia, and apparently about a week later they sent someone for a unannounced inspection of the house, which they revoked the status of guardian from Tia, and the money I was still getting was going into a private trust account that I owned.

I made sure I was capable enough to survive on my own before I ran away. I packed food, clothes, stacks of cash and enough supplies to survive in the wilderness if I had to. It felt amazing though, when I ran. It was good. The wind blew in my hair and the noise of the city made me run faster. I spent my first night of freedom on top of hill. It was a small hill, with a short bridge hovering over a narrow, quiet stream. It overlooked a silent neighbourhood, and I remembered the chirping of the crickets into the warm summer night of July. I watched the stillness of the houses, the shadows of the hills, and the sun rose over the horizon.

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**AN: Ba-da-ba-da-bahh! New fic! Thanks if you actually read to up to this point, I'll send you a sticker for not quitting on this chapter, ha.**

**I know, this is short, the upcoming chapters WILL be longer, don't worry. Th****is was just a short introduction of Santana's background prior, don't panic. The next chapter will be set in "present".**

**Ugh, I know it was bad, I apologize, leave the insults in the reviews.**

**I'll try to update frequently, but no promises, haha.**

**Much love, xx**


	2. Chapter 2

**-Santana-**

It's scary when you're being escorted. No, not to the police station or to court this time. To somewhere new, unknown to you. Foreign. Unexplored.

The car ride was bearable enough, I could try to watch my window and it would take my mind of some things. The nervousness is inevitable, it's like being transferred to a new school, meeting people you've never met before, scared and nervous about whether or not they would accept, or even like you. It _is _terrifying.

But it's different, even if they don't like you, you don't really have anywhere to hide. You _live _there. You can't try to run away from them. You're walking into a place where you're going to live, and most likely the people are going to hate you there, and sometime soon you won't be able to stand the stares anymore and run away, again. It's just a cycle.

Ugh. I shook my head, as if the nervousness could be thrown out of my thoughts.

The ride was longer than I'd imagined, there wasn't a clock but I counted thirty-seven road signs on the way, so I figured it was going to be far from the city.

The sun shone straight into my eyes and I was blind for two seconds before I could get out of the car and take a look at my new home. The white walls were tainted and old, the two trees next to either side of the entrance were tall and shady, they had lots of branches. I made a mental note of that.

The social services people led me through the fence and into the building, where they talked to the caretakers and made me sign here and there, but I didn't pay much attention to what I was doing. Most people think that this is somewhat disrespectful, I consider it a gift and is grateful for it - the power to zone people out whenever I want. People can try to talk to me and I can do whatever they want me to without having to let my mind process it. It's easier this way, you don't have to feel or know anything. Being in the dark is so much better.

I was actually completely in my mind the whole time, I didn't pay any attention to what was happening and what I was doing until I felt a hand shake my shoulder. I snapped back and looked up. It was Ms Siantre, the social service lady.

"Hey," she called softly. "Look, I know it's scary to be in a new place, but promise me you'll try to behave?"

"Uh, well," I said. "I can't really... make any promises, but I'll try?"

"That's good enough for me," she smiled.

She was pretty. The sun reflected off her shiny hair and I saw her perfect white teeth beam at me. I felt guilty for not noticing how pretty this lady was before. She was in charge of my custody, I've seen her plenty of times and I never took the time to appreciate her beauty.

She knelt to readjust her height, so that I could look her in the eyes without having to tilt my head. "I hope you find something special here, Santana. I know you've been running a lot in your life, and I really hope you don't do that again. I wish that you can find something here, so keep looking, okay?"

I nodded and pursed my lips. Not a lot of people have the... courage to tell me that. I was still a little confused, but I did what she said.

"We Latinas are strong women. We don't run, we stay. We stay and we protect. And I hope you can find something you want to protect."

She squeezed me once and I squeezed back. I waved as she left, the confusion still lingering. What?

* * *

"Here's your room," the man in a blue jumpsuit lead me to my new room and left without another word.

It was a small room, with two beds parallel on opposite sides and two small wooden closets against the wall, next to the foot of the bed. The whole room was simple, white walls with black mahogany beds and plain blue sheets on the mattress. There was a small bedside table with three drawers next to the bed, and a two-level shelf nailed into the wall, hovering over the bed. The other side was identical. There were four small windows and a working table in the middle of the room, with five small chairs around it.

One side of the room was obviously occupied, there were supplies on the shelves and the bed was unmade. I decided that the other side was mine, so I set down my rucksack and began to unpack. I didn't own much, I folded the few sets of clothes I owned and stacked them neatly in the closet shelf. I put my money and emergency supplies in one of the drawers in the bedside table and carefully locked it, stuffing the key in the hidden compartment of my jeans.

I guess I was too busy unpacking, because I didn't even notice anyone coming in.

I turned and saw a girl who was, presumably, my roommate. I couldn't see her face because she was facing her side of the room, busying herself. I could see her wispy, long blond hair, which draped over her back and had barely passed her shoulder blades. I also saw two bags on the working table, they weren't there the last time I looked, so I assumed the girl brought them.

"Um," I started. "Are these for me?"

The girl turned and I had to think twice to catch my breath. She was pretty. Her features were fair and her cheeks were flushed pink. She had a tall nose and perfect lips. Her long blond hair hung around her face and fit perfectly with the shape of her face. What really struck me were her eyes. They were pure blue, a clear, pure blue. The blue of the sky - no, not any sky, the mid-June sky. The colour of the sky you could find on a nice, warm summer day. No clouds, no winds. Just the blue of the sky.

"Oh," she let out a breath. Her voice was quiet, not in a inaudible way, the type of quietness that was soft and rung in your ears, and it made you want to listen more. It had a certain level of dignity to it, something that makes you listen. It was intoxicating, it was intriguing. It was one word, for God's sake, and already I was addicted to this girl's voice, someone whom I barely spoke to at all.

"Uh, yeah, I heard that someone new was coming today, new roommate. I went down and got you some supplies," she gestured to the bag.

"Um, uh, er," was all I was able to make out. "Uhh," So much for having a snarky reputation ten yards down the road, jeez, you're from Lima Heights. Pull yourself together, I slapped myself mentally.

She smiled, and gosh she was beautiful. There wasn't... anything that I could actually put into words. I think, it's like a puzzle. Her face was put together so perfectly, I would've sworn God spent a bit more time on this girl, this piece of art. There was nothing left to describe about her appearance, if you asked me, I would've said plain breath-taking.

"Here, I'll help you fix things up," she stood up straight, and somehow I was pleased about the short distance in height between us two. She was barely noticeably taller, but that didn't even bother me. Weird, I was usually very self-conscious of my appearance.

"Right," I managed to squeeze out a word.

She started to pull out supplies - towels, a toothbrush, toothpaste, hair brush, stationary and paper products. She helped me stack my things neatly and she showed me around, pointing out shortcuts to the mess hall and gave me tips on how to avoid the long lines for showers. It was all blurry, and I couldn't even take half of it into account - which I surprised myself, because I usually was pretty good with multi-tasking and I could take something into memory even if I wasn't paying attention. It's hard to explain, you know when you're not really focusing on something, but somehow later you can recall something from it? I was good at that. Somehow I couldn't, I could barely remember anything from our little encounter. I could remember though, too clearly, now as I am laying in my bed, staring at the ceiling and hoping I could falling asleep; I could recall staring at her, maybe a little too long without blinking, because I had to rub my eyes since they were watering from not blinking.

She was so graceful in her movements, and the smallest of them were caught by my eyes. I watched her closely, it was near impossible to not to, so I didn't even bother fighting against that, because it was a fight I was going to lose. Her arms were long and elegant, and they moved swiftly. Her smiling face was lingering in my head, the grin she'd give me when she turned to look back. I counted them silently; one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Each one of them replayed like a slideshow against the black of my closed eyelids, as I tried to clear my head, but they were still there, and they were so, _so_ ... they were something I couldn't stop myself from wanting to watch them over and over again, so I just gave up and chuckled while they stayed there. Eight.

The blue of her eyes were so deep, reflective but expressive at the same time. It wasn't just a colour, it wasn't just something to look at and sigh, "Pretty," because eyes held so much more than that. I like to think that eyes held a lot more, and it was more compassionate, more emotion flowing out. They were such a beautiful of colour, much too difficult to ignore. Her blue was vibrant as ever, not like pop-up neon blue, no, that's much too scary and unnatural. Her blue was excited. Excited to tell a story, _her story_, and excited to know yours. They were playful and inviting yet cautious, too sensitive and afraid that she was intruding. Her face was so warm and welcoming, and I could tell that she wanted to get to know me, but she decided to be patient and wait for me to open up. Like that's going to happen.

I realized that I was being a bit creepy, maybe just a bit, because right now I could still smell her scent, fresh from memory. She was sleeping soundly in the bed across the room from mine; it was too far to catch her scent. You know how everyone has their own scent? I don't mean their sweaty smell, the one that is unique and everyone has their own? Everyone's scent was too different to be close to anything, and nothing can really change it, not shampoo, not body wash, not lotion, not body spray, not time. Time makes you grow, but your scent is one thing that you can try to change, but you'll just realize that it's impossible. And it's hard to describe it too, because it differs from any other smell you know. You can't try to say that it's like something else, because there's not really anything even remotely close to it, at least not anything solid. It's incredibly hard to describe, so I won't even bother trying to. Hers smelt so sweet, not the taste kind, the kind of sweet that... _attracts_. I was _attracted_ to it. It sounds so bizarre when I say it out loud in my mind - I was attracted to this girl, someone that I've met for about four hours. Everything about her captivated me. Ugh. I rolled over and pulled my covers up a little higher.

I spent a lot longer just rolling in bed, thinking about this person that came into my thoughts, because this has never happened before, not by my will. It's not that I didn't like it, it was just that everything happened so fast and I haven't been able to process it through, really. I've never given much thought about the people around me, but this person just came barging in, messing up my usual thinking and filling up my head with her. Jeez, it sounds so weird, I mean, she's pretty and all, but I've never felt so... I've never felt almost anything for anyone. And I definitely felt _something. _I just couldn't figure out what it was.

I started humming to an old song, I forgot the lyrics and I didn't know who sung it, but the melody was fresh in my mind and it felt good. I silently tapped my fingers against the mattress and it helped me to slowly drift off to sleep.

The last thing I remembered was that I didn't ask for the girl's name.

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**AN: Chapter 2 done! Sorry, I know these are a bit short but I can update faster with shorter chapters! Plus, I try to pay attention to how many words I put in my writing but most of the time I end a chapter when I can think of a right way to end it, and I decide when I feel like it :3 **

**Anyways, I don't want it to seem like I'm writing a long AN to hog up the words, so I'm going to leave it here. Btw, I don't really have a very specific plot going on - I mean I have a general idea, but I'm going to change it now and then, so it might be a bit unexpected. I write as I go, and when I feel inspired, but I'll do my best to update frequently :)**

**Thanks for reading, as always. Leave a word if you have the time:)**

**Cheers, much love xx**


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